“They presented these men to the Apostles who prayed and laid hands on them.”
“To deliver them from death and preserve them in spite of famine.”
“It had already grown dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them… But he said to them, ‘It is I. Do not be afraid.’”
There is a curious repetition in Scripture today: them… them… them.
A word that seems to divide—but is constantly being gathered back into the hands of God.
2. Meditatio
What does it take to become a deacon? Apparently about 5½ years, 1,200 hours, and a whole lot of grace. Deacon Brian Lewis joins us to break down the journey to the permanent diaconate — vocations, formation, and why the Diocese of Amarillo is fishing for the next class of servant-leaders. Oh!…and making sure your wife signs the paperwork! 😅 Spoiler Alert: the nets are ready…now we just need the fishermen. 🎣
I have always found it much safer to speak of them than of us.
They are the ones in conflict. They are the ones in need. They are the ones called, chosen, sent, and saved.
And I—comfortably—stand at a distance.
It is much easier to walk along the shore and observe them in the boat than to climb in and risk the storm. The sea is always more poetic from land.
I remember, not without discomfort, that moment years ago when I was invited—quite concretely—to step into the boat. An application for the diaconate placed before me, a bishop willing to sign it.
And I said no.
Perhaps it was prudence. Perhaps it was conscience. Or perhaps—though I hesitate to admit it—it was the quiet preference to remain safely among the observers.
Now time has passed, and I am “too old” to be one of them.
But the Gospel unsettles that excuse.
For the disciples are not praised for their courage—they are afraid. They are not steady—they are tossed about. They are not confident—they are waiting.
And still, Christ comes not to the shore, but to them.
Which leaves me with an uncomfortable possibility:
Perhaps the dividing line between them and me was never drawn by God.
3. Oratio
Lord Jesus, You who come not to spectators but to those in the storm—
forgive my love of distance.
I have watched when I was called to enter, spoken of them when You were calling me into us.
If I have refused Your call in the past, redeem even that refusal.
If I am no longer called to that same path, then show me the one that remains.
Do not let me settle into a life of safe observation and quiet commentary.
Call me again— not necessarily to the same boat, but to the same trust.
And when I am afraid, come to me as You came to them and say:
The world is divided, not so much by sin, as by pronouns.
We say them when we mean “not me,” and us when we mean “comfortably included.”
But Christ speaks differently.
He does not stand apart and speak of them— He steps into the storm and creates an us.
The Church in Acts begins with division—them versus them—and is healed not by argument, but by service. Hands are laid, roles are given, and suddenly them becomes together.
The Psalm speaks of God delivering them— but it does not say from afar.
And the Gospel reveals the final joke:
The ones I call them are precisely the ones to whom Christ goes.
And if I wish to meet Him, I must either go to them— or discover that I was meant to be among them all along.
5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality
He communed with all creation, even preaching to the flowers, inviting them “to praise the Lord, just as if they were endowed with reason”.[19]
Laudato si’ calls for a culture that moves beyond division into encounter—a recognition that we are not isolated individuals, but a people.
Action:
Today, I will consciously replace one “them” with “us.” In conversation or thought, when I am tempted to distance myself from others (in the Church, community, or family), I will instead ask: How am I part of this?
For Synodality is not walking alongside them— it is discovering that there was only ever us.
A haunting reflection on the divisions we create. Yet the Gospel quietly insists that the line between “us and them” is thinner—and more fragile—than we imagine.
A world that fears “them” often reveals more about its own anxieties than about any real threat. The real danger may not be “them”—but the distance we insist on keeping.
8. Poetic Verse
I walked the shore and named the boat, and watched them face the sea— content to let their courage stand at a safer place than me.
But wind and wave do not divide as neatly as I’d planned— for Christ came walking on the deep, not waiting on the sand.
So break the word that keeps me safe, and call me where You went— for “them” dissolves where You draw near, and fear becomes assent.
